CHAPTER XXIII

LAS HURDES (ESTREMADURA) AND THE SAVAGE TRIBES THAT INHABIT THEM

Isolated amidst the congeries of mountain-ranges that converge upon León, Castile, and Estremadura, lies a lost region that bears this name. The Hurdes occupy no small space; they represent no insignificant nook, but a fair-sized province--say fifty miles long by thirty broad--severed from the outer world; cut off from Portugal on the one side, from Spain on the other; while its miserable inhabitants are ignored and despised by both its neighbours.

Who and what are these wild tribes (numbering 4000 souls) that, in a squalor and savagery incredible in modern Europe, cling, in solitary tenacity, to these inhospitable fastnesses?

Possibly they are the remnants of Gothish fugitives who, 1200 years ago, sought shelter in these hills from Arab scimitars; other theories trace their origin back to an earlier era. But whether Goths or Visigoths, Vandals or other, these pale-faced Hurdanos are surely none of swarthy Arab or Saracenic blood; and equally certainly they are none of Spanish race. The Spanish leave them severely alone--none dwell in Las Hurdes. Being neither ethnologists nor antiquaries, nor even sensational writers, the authors confine themselves to their personal experience, stiffened by a study of what the few Spanish authorities have collated on the subject.

Whatever their origin may have been, the Hurdanos of to-day are a depraved and degenerate race, to all intents and purposes savages, lost to all sense of self-respect or shame, of honesty or manliness. Too listless to take thought of the most elementary necessities of life, they are content to lead a semi-bestial existence, dependent for subsistence on their undersized goats and swine, on an exiguous and precarious cultivation, eked out by roots and wild fruits such as acorns, chestnuts, etc., and on begging outside their own region.

First, as to their country. Picture a maze of mountains all utterly monotonous in uniform configuration--long straight slopes, each skyline practically parallel with that beyond, bare of trees, but clad in shoulder-high scrub. On approaching from the south, the hills are lower and display delightful variety of heaths (including common heather); but as one penetrates northwards, the bush is reduced to the everlasting gum-cistus, and elevations become loftier and more precipitous till they culminate in the sheer rock-walls of the Sierra de Gata. Here, in remote glens, one chances on groves of ilex and cork-oak, whose gnarled boles attest the absence of woodcutters, while huge trunks lie prostrate, decaying from sheer old age. Here and there one sees an ilex enveloped to its summit in parasitic growths of creepers and wild-vine, whose broad, pale-green leaves contrast pleasingly with the dusky foliage and small leaf of its host.

In the deep gorges or canyons of these mountains are situate the settlements, called _Alquerías_, of the wild tribes, most of them inaccessible on horseback. That of Romano de Arriba, for example, is plunged in such an abyss that from November to March no ray of sunshine ever reaches it. A similar case is that of Casa Hurdes, which, as seen from the bridle-track leading over the Sierra de Portéros into Castile, appears buried in the bottom of a crevasse. Others, in the reverse, are perched on high, amidst crags that can only be surmounted by a severe scramble up broken rock-stairways.

These _alquerías_--warrens we may translate the word--consist of den-like hovels straggling without order or huddled together according as the rock-formation may dictate--some half-piled one on another, others separate. Many are mere holes in the earth--lairs, shapeless as nature left their walls, but roofed over with branches and grass held in place by schistose slabs that serve for slates. Hardly, in some cases, can one distinguish human dwellings from surrounding bush, earth, or rock. As our companion, a civil guard, remarked of one set of eyries that adhered to a cliff-face, they rather resembled "the nests of crag-martins" (_nidos de vencéjos_) than abodes of mankind.

Within are two tiny compartments, the first occupied by goats or swine, the second littered with bracken on which the whole family sleep, irrespective of age or sex. There is no light nor furniture of any description; no utensils for washing, hardly even for cooking. True, there is in some of the lairs a hollowed trunk which may serve as a bed, but its original design (as the name _batane_ imports) was for pressing the grapes and olives in autumn. No refuse is ever thrown out; even the filthy ferns are retained for use as manure for the orchards--in a word, these poor creatures habitually sleep on a manure-heap. Even wild beasts, the wolves and boars, are infinitely more attentive to domestic cleanliness and purity.

Another _alquería_ visited by the authors, that of Rubiáco, consisted of a massed cluster of sties embedded on the slopes of a low ridge bordered on either side by crystal-bright mountain streams. So timid and shy are the natives that several were descried actually taking to the hill on our appearance. A distribution of tobacco, with coloured handkerchiefs for the women, restored a measure of confidence, and we succeeded in collecting a group or two for the camera. The day, however, was dull and overcast, and rain, unluckily, fell at that precise moment.

These people, clad in patch-work of rags, leather and untanned skins, were undersized, pallid of complexion, plain (though we would scarce say repulsive) in appearance, with dull incurious eyes that were instantly averted when our glances met. The men, otherwise stolid and undemonstrative, affected a vacuous grin or giggle, but utterly devoid of any spark of joy or gladness. Many (though by no means all) displayed distinctly flattened noses, somewhat of the Mongolian type; and not even among the younger girls could a trace of good looks be detected. All went bare-foot, indeed bare-legged to the knee.

On opening the door of a den--an old packing-case lid, three feet high, secured by a thong of goatskin--two pigs dashed forth squealing, and at the first step inside the writer's foot splashed in fetid moisture hidden beneath a litter of green fern. It being dark within, and too low to stand upright, I struck a match and presently became aware of a living object almost underfoot. It proved to be a baby, no bigger than a rabbit, and with tiny black bead-like eyes that gleamed with a wild light--never before have we seen such glance on human face. While examining this phenomenon, a sound from the inner darkness revealed a second inmate. We crept into this lair, scrambling up two steps in the natural rock, and from the fern-litter arose a female. She stood about three feet high, had the same wild eyes, unkempt hair, encrusted brown with dirt, hanging loose over her naked shoulders--a merciful darkness concealed the rest. She appeared to be about ten years old, and dwarfed and undersized at that; yet she told us she was fourteen, and the mother of the rabbit-child, also that its father had deserted her a month ago--ten days before its birth. The lair contained absolutely no furniture, unless dead fern be so styled. Can human misery further go?

The next hovel did contain a _batane_, or hollowed tree, in which lay some scanty rags like fragments of discarded horse-cloths. So lacking are these poor savages in any sufficient clothing, whether for day or night, that the children, we were assured, were habitually laid to sleep among the swine, in order to share the natural warmth of those beasts. In one abode only did we discover such convenience as a wooden chest. It contained a handful of potatoes, some chestnuts, and a broken iron cooking-pot. We examined another den or two--practically all were alike. If anything was there that escaped our attention we had an excuse--the aroma (personal, porcine, and putrid) was more than the strongest could endure for many minutes on end.

We turned away. Mingled feelings of loathing, of pity, and of despair at the utter hopelessness of it all filled our minds. There, not a hundred yards away, a contrasted sight met our eyes, one of humbler nature's most perfect scenes: a fledgeling brood of white wagtails tripped gaily along the burnside--types of pure spotless beauty, overflowing with high spirits and the joy of life. A few minutes later, and a pair of ring-plovers (_Aegialitis curonica_) on the river accentuated the same pitiful contrast.

Such small cultivation as exists in the Hurdes is carried on under supreme difficulty. The hills themselves are uncultivable, and the only opportunities that present themselves are either chance open spaces amidst interminable rock, or such rare and narrow strips of soil as can exist between precipitous slopes and the banks of the streams. Here little garden-patches, thirty or forty feet long by a dozen in width, are reclaimed; but the very earth is liable to be swept away by winter-floods pouring down the mountain-sides, and has to be replaced by fresh soil carried--it may be long distances--on men's shoulders. Here a few potatoes may be raised and in the broader valleys scant crops of rye. The few fruit trees are neglected, and therefore give short yield, though what little is produced is of exquisite flavour, comprising figs, cherries, a sort of peach (_pavia_), olives, and vines. All crops are subject to the ravages of wild-boars, which roam in bands of a dozen to a score, fearless of man and molested by none; while wolves take toll of the flocks.

Red deer also wander freely and unpreserved over these ownerless hills--possibly the only place in Europe where such is the case. We inquired whether many were shot, but were told that such an event occurred rarely, though the Hurdano gunner might often approach within close range. "We are not _enseñados_ [instructed] in the arts of chase," explained our informant. A few partridges and hares are found, with trout in the upper waters.

Despite their degradation, the Hurdanos, we were assured, display no criminal taint such as is inherent among Gipsies.

As regards the habits and customs of these people, we here roughly transcribe from the work of Pascual Madoz[39] some selected extracts that appear to be as accurate to-day as when they were written some sixty years ago.

The food of the Hurdanos is as noxious as it is scanty. The potato is the general stand-by, either boiled or cooked with crude goat's suet; sometimes beans fried in the same grease, and lastly the leaves of trees, boiled; with roots, the stalks of certain wild grasses, chestnuts, and acorns. Bread is practically unknown--all they ever have is made of coarse rye and such crusts as they obtain by begging outside their district. Only when at the point of death is wheaten bread provided.

Their clothing consists of a shapeless garment reaching from the hip to the knee, a shirt without collar, fastening with one button, and a sack carried over the shoulder. They have no warm clothing and all go bare-foot. The women are even less tidy and dirtier than the men. Never have they a vestige of anything new--nothing but discarded garments obtained by begging, or in exchange for chestnuts, at the distant towns. Their usual "fashion" is never to take off, to mend, or to wash any rag they have once put on--it is worn till it falls off through sheer old age and dirt. They never wash nor brush their hair, and go bare-legged like the men.

These, moreover, are the richest; the majority being clad in goatskins (untanned) that they kill or that die. These skins the men fix round their necks, girt at waist and round the knees with straps; the women merely an apron from the waist downward.

Men and women alike are dwarfed in stature and repugnant in appearance, augmented by their pallor and starveling look. On the other hand, they are active and expert in climbing their native mountains. There is no outward difference in the sexes as regards their lives and means of subsistence.

All their environment tends to make them untractable and savage (_sylvaticos_), shunning contact with their kind, even fleeing at sight and refusing to speak. They have no doctors nor surgeons, relying on certain herbs for medicines; yet they live long lives. They only recognise the passing seasons by the state of vegetation and of the atmosphere. They sow and reap according to the phases of the moon, of which they preserve an accurate observation. Religion and schools alike are unknown. They glory in their freedom from all moral suasion, and rejoice in the most brutal immorality and crime--including parricide and polygamy. There are _alquerías_ wherein no priest has set foot, nor do they possess the faintest sense of Christian duties.

It seems incredible that in the midst of two provinces both wealthy and well reputed there should exist a plague-spot such as we have painted, unknown as the remotest kraals of Central Africa.

Thus Pascual Madoz in 1845, and but little external change has become apparent in sixty-five subsequent years.[40] Churches, it is true, have been erected, priests and schoolmasters appointed. Amelioration, however, by such means can only come very slowly--if at all. The physical and domestic status of these poor savages must first be raised before they are mentally capable of assimilating the mysteries of religion. Spain, however, owes them something. They are heavily taxed--beyond their power to pay in cash. Thus they are cast into the power of usurers. In each _alquería_, we were told, is usually found one man more astute than the rest, and he, in combination with some sordid scoundrel outside, exploits the misery of his fellows. A species of semi-slavery is thus established--in some ways analogous to the baneful system of _Caciquismo_ outside.

The Hurdanos are also subject to the conscription and furnish forty to fifty recruits yearly to the Spanish army. Curiously, time-expired men all elect to return to their wretched lot in the mountains. On our asking one of these (he had served at Melilla), "Why?" his reply was, "for liberty."[41]

There is a villainous custom in vogue that hurls these poor wretches yet farther down the bottomless pit. This abomination rages to-day as it did a hundred years ago: we therefore again leave old Pascual Madoz to tell the tale in his own words:--

Many women make a miserable livelihood--it is indeed their only industry--by rearing foundling infants from the hospitals of Ciudad Rodrigo and Placencia. So keen are they of the money thus obtained that one woman, aided by a goat, will undertake to rear three or four babes--all necessarily so ill-tended and ill-fed as rather to resemble living spectres than human beings. Cast down on beds of filthy ferns and lacking all maternal care, the majority perish from hunger, cold, and neglect. The few that reach childhood are weaklings for life, feeble and infirm.

This repulsive "industry" continues to-day, a sum of three dollars a month being paid by the authorities of the cities named to rid themselves of each undesired infant. The effect--direct and incidental--upon morals and sexual relationship in the _alquerías_ of the Hurdes may (in degree) be deduced--it cannot be set down in words. Thus the single point of contact with civilisation serves but to accentuate the degradation.